Twin Regrets (and Troubles)
by Devin Trinidad
Summary: He's an old, ornery man and when he looks at the twins he sees something that he used to have. (Or five times when Grunkle Stan meets the twins before that fateful summer).
The first time he meets them, he's dressed in a customary suit and his fez is sloppily planted on his head of rapidly greying hair. Every so often, he glances at his watch and drums his fingers over his arms. "Time is money," he had muttered to his nephew. Stan had expected a rebuttal, but he was faintly surprised when the father-to-be had nodded absently in his general direction. Since then, Stan kept to himself as he scans the hospital hallways.

The bright fluorescence blinds his eyes and he swears that he would go blind from all the hustle and bustle of the hospital patients and staff. Twice already, he had been asked to quiet down. Three times since his younger brother elbowed him in the ribs while a look of humor had laced his eyes.

"Pipe it down, Stan! I'm about to become a grandpa!"

Shermy's eyes are bright like the morning sun and Stan has to fight the urge to look away. Once upon a time, he watched another person with the same eyes coo and awe at machinery and textbooks. Even though an unimaginable period of time has passed, the costume he dons and the name he shamelessly flaunts still doesn't fit him.

Stanford?

Pssh.

The name is elegant and rolls off the tongue. It's an old name, not many people have it, but there's a sort of charisma that everyone notices. Everyone. It is a name that rings with power and prestige, but most of all, knowledge. To Stan, he's too coarse and wild to bear such a name like that.

It's not his.

It was never his.

"Uh-huh. Tell me again why I was invited to this shindig?" Really, there had to be a reason. For the most part, the family never got together. He had never seen his father since the night he left, barely saw his younger brother, and his nephew and niece-in-law barely saw him. "I could have been scamming more tourists and giving birth to ten babies at the rate she's going."

"Stanford!"

The name grates at his ears, but he manages to smirk at Shermy.

"Alright, alright. Still though, why the heck was I invited?"

Shermy starts before he begins to answer. However, just when the grandpa-to-be was about to speak, there's a small ruckus occurring at the end of the hall. A young man with an unruly mop of hair (courtesy of the Pines lineage) pumps the air in happiness and whoops fill the atmosphere with hope and wonder. Shermy's eyes brighten and Stan feels his chest tighten.

This moment shouldn't have been his.

No.

This was for Stanford.

"Congrats…You're a grandpa now." Stan clears his throat for a moment before looking away. "I'm going to get a sorry excuse of coffee right now if you don't—"

Surprisingly, good ole Pops also trained Shermy in the art of wrestling. After a few of minutes of mindless grappling, Stan was finally ushered into a hospital room. It's clean and sterile, but there's an air of expectation. It is the charged atmosphere of a woman who had fought for her young children to be born into the world. It's uncomfortable and foreign, but Stan feels a small hint of curiosity tug at his chest.

He notices that there are two bundles in the room. One of them is busy squalling in the proud father's arms while the other rests in the mother's. Tears track down both of the parents' faces, but Stan doesn't take in their infectious grins. Instead, Stan hesitantly steps forward towards his nephew and eyes the crying bundle. Thin tufts of dark brunet hair rest on top of the wrinkly head. A strange birthmark rests on the baby's head and Stan feels a pang of sympathy for the little one.

"Unique," Stan mutters in appreciation. His voice and actions are awkward, quite dissimilar to when he's hustling somebody. He noticeably shifts back and forth on his feet. Too many seconds have gone by and Stan can blame so much on his lack of familial interaction. "I like em' already."

He turns away to check on the other baby before he leaves to grant the nuclear family some privacy. Before he leaves, however, he turns around to take in the perfect scene and grins sadly to himself.

"Twins. Huh, who would have thought?"

* * *

The reunion sucks.

That's all there is to it.

It's been a few years since the whole pregnancy/birthing episode and Stan is content to mail Christmas cards every year. They don't cost much. They were just the standard Hallmark editions that anyone could have used. Absolutely no thought was put into them whatsoever. Nada.

So why was he here again?

He harrumphed to himself as he took a swig from a beer bottle. Apparently, they thought that they should reach out to him and offer him the best in familial relations. Pfft, if only they knew to whom they were extending the olive branch. If they had the slightest iota of who he was, how he managed to inherit a small house in Gravity Falls, and simultaneously sent his brother to another dimension, they would have sent him running a long time ago. Still, he had to hand it to his distant family members. They knew how to pick a nice case of beer.

"Want some!"

The words were so slurred and childish, Stan thought that another member of the Pines family had gotten drunk and that they wanted his beer. He was about to reply with a "Get your own!", but he saw that a pair of troublemakers had stumbled upon him.

Something told him that he would get kicked out if he started cursing in front of these little gifts from God.

"Nah, it tastes terrible and it gives you a headache." He placed the beer bottle onto a counter away from meddling toddler hands before he glances down at the wide eyed gaze of his great-niece. "Where's the other one?"

"Other?"

"Ya know, your brother? Aren't you a twin or something?" Against his better instincts, he could feel some sort of paternal protectiveness take over his cognitive faculties. There was just something innately wrong without seeing a puzzle piece without its partner. Years ago, Stan felt the same about another young pair of twins.

"Uh-huh!" She jabbed her candy encrusted fingers at a spot behind him. "There!"

Right away, Stan whirled around just in time to see that the young boy had somehow climbed up the counter and was about to start suckling the bottle. With a few swift movements, Stan had taken a hold of his great-nephew and moved the bottle even farther back. (How did he even get there so quickly?)

"Mabel!" The boy yelled crossly. "I want taste!"

"Nuh-uh! Is bad!"

"Uh-huh!"

"Nuh-uh!"

Cripes almighty. Is this how all young children interacted? Granted, he had seen this sort of thing back in the Mystery Shack, but the parents had them on leashes…and they were left shivering on the floor after encountering one of his more "unsavory" mysteries at the Shack. With a sigh, the old man rubbed his large ears before clearing his throat. The sudden gruff sound had both of the little tikes look up at him in unison. Ugh, ten times the creepiness.

"If I let you have some of this," he gestured to the bottle, "then would you leave me alone?"

"Really?" They squealed. Their high pitched voices of joy had Stan rubbing his ears all over again.

"Uh-huh. Here ya go."

He tipped the bottle into both of the children's mouth. Because he was such a responsible adult (not), he made sure to let only a drop enter their mouths.

Female twin was not amused.

"More!"

"Kid, you're barely two years old—"

"Three!"

"—Semantics. I doubt that you can hold your liquor." He pointed to the doorway with the bottle and smirked at the scowling toddlers. "Now scram."

The little girl looked like she was about to argue some more, but she quickly exchanged a glance with her brother. Being a twin himself, Stan immediately knew what they were doing. Twin telepathy, secret communication, etc. etc. He's seen it before and the fact that they're giggling to themselves does not sit well with him. However, before he can say one final word, the pair scamper away.

"Dang kids." He takes another swig of his beer until the entirety of its contents are drained. Ah, sweet peace of mind faintly sprinkled with alcoholic victory.

"What were you thinking!"

Suddenly, Stan becomes all too aware that his niece-in-law is looking angry and that the two little pests are gathered around her legs like bodyguards.

"Smart thinking," he addresses the dynamic duo. "Sell out your old man to the authorities. Story of my life." Still, he's somewhat proud that these kids have guts.

"They're only three years old!"

Never mind.

He's not looking forward to this at all.

As he glances at his watch and thinks up a few lies to get himself out of trouble, he has one more thought.

At least the reunion wasn't a complete waste of time.

* * *

A few more years pass and he meets the twins once more.

He had been called down to California for some unexpected business. Technically, it wasn't unexpected at all. When you're married for a long period of time, you get these urges to reconnect with the partner and leave your children in the care of a babysitter or someone. That person just happened to be him.

("Right…Why not good ole Shermy? I ain't good with kids.")

When asked, his nephew said that Shermy was tied up with some other business at the other side of the United States.

Pfft…This was probably payback for letting the twins have some beer the last time he met them.

"Great-Uncle Stan! Great Uncle Stan!"

Ah, here comes one of the little devils.

For some odd reason, the little girl was wearing a sweater with a gigantic blob-shaped creature embroidered into the fabric. The more Stan looked at it, the more it looked like a demon with a smile on its face.

"Shouldn't you be in bed with your brother?" He scrutinized the look of pure delight on her face as she tried her hardest to appear like she wasn't breaking any rules. "Kid, get to bed before I tell your parents that you're a closet insomniac."

"Closet what?

"Never mind that. Get to bed."

Instead of doing what he wanted, she opted to pull up a chair and sit right next to him.

Because of her cute exterior and the bright smile that she sported, the scene would have looked charming and adorable. Not to Stan, though. He knew when he was being conned. Something about her soulful eyes and light grin made her appear like she wanted something from him. The kid was going to be a criminal one day that was for sure.

"Ya need something, kid?"

"Nope."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because."

He stared at his great-niece with a look bordering on dread.

"I don't know what you're getting at, but I really don't want to know. Now get."

"Nope."

"If you want money, you can't have it…at least not from me."

She slyly shook her head.

The silence was getting to him.

"Throw your great-uncle a bone, will ya? I haven't got all night."

"Do you like my sweater?" She pointed at her baggy sweater that had been bothering him. "It has your funny hat on it!"

For some odd reason, there was this uncomfortable feeling of something warm fluttering in his chest. It was like a single flame had ignited and that the warmth was slowly spreading from his chest down to the tips of his toes. How long since he had this pure, innocent feeling swimming in his body? God, it made his head spin.

Somehow, the little girl caught wind of his small approving smile. In turn, she took off her sweater and handed it to him.

"What's this?"

"Your welcome present. This is my first sweater I made!" She looked away from him as a small blush dusted her cheeks. "I…hope you like it."

It was at that moment when Stan saw how the fabric was bunched up in some places and tangled in others. Loose strands had managed to come out of the binding in the yarn, but he instinctively could tell that it was made out of love and hard work. There wasn't much in resale value, but he awkwardly held onto it as he fingered the cloth and saw the misshapen form of his fez on the front. No one had made him something so…unique before and just for him!

"Er, thanks, kid." He clears his throat and sternly glares at her. "But that doesn't excuse you from bedtime."

"Okay!" With a skip and a hop, she ambles towards him, hugs his leg then turns, and pounds up the stairs.

"You're getting way too attached, Stan. Way too attached." Still, he fingers the yarn and kept it safe.

* * *

This time, Stan happens onto the twins by chance.

Some of his pug traffickers needed him to write up a new contract in California. For some odd reason, the rendezvous had taken place in Piedmont. Not that Stan particularly cares, but there was a slight nagging at his gut that told him something was about to happen.

And then it happens.

He had just gotten out of a bar fight—

("Get me the money, Señor Pines or I will send the pug trafficking police after you!"

"Never, Carlito! You need the pugs; I'm the only pug trafficker you got!")

—and now he was walking away to a mall or something. He had planned to maybe buy some spectacular item and augment his stash at home. It was a fairly sunny day. The clouds were floating in the sky and the birds chirped and sang like there was no tomorrow. It was nothing out of the ordinary. That was what the old man thought until he saw a young boy hanging around a fountain. A cap, looking the worse for wear and quite dirty, rested on his head. In his hands, a video game bleeped and pinged various sounds. Bright colors and figures danced on the small screen, clearly bringing the young boy joy.

Enemies had appeared on the screen and with swift movements, he quickly dispatched them with a few quick commands.

"Kid, you do realize that real life ain't like that, right?"

Startled by his great uncle's unexpected appearance, the young boy nearly lost the hold on his device. His eyes had bugged out of his head and his thin, noodly arms had swung out of control. The scene was so comical that the old man felt only slight sympathy for him. He was just so easy to tease!

"Great Uncle Stan!" The young boy peered at him. His panic had lessened and now Stan saw that the young boy had become suspicious. Good instincts, Stan had to give him that. "What are you doing here?"

"Ah, you know. Businessman stuff." He peered at the young boy's hands like it was the most interesting thing in the world. "What you got there, buddy? Oh man, violence!" His bushy brows furrowed. "Where's the blood?"

"Erm…there is no blood."

"No blood!" Stan was shocked. This much violence, but no blood. Now that was just unrealistic. Video game standards were setting the bar so low. What was going to happen in the future? "Meh…Could have been worse. What are you doing here all by yourself?"

For a second, the boy's eyes darkened in sadness as he brought his knees up to his chest. Loneliness, if there was ever a picture to describe it, was clear in his actions and the way he held himself. Because of the fountain's roaring water and the passerby's chatter around them, Stan could only get a small snippet of what the young boy had said.

"Speak up, kid. I skimped out on my doctor; I haven't gotten any hearing aids yet."

"Mabel's out…with her friends."

His voice was heartbroken and sad. The scene hit too close to home and Stan found himself patting the young boy's back to comfort him.

"Kid, what about you? You don't have anyone to spend time with?"

The boy just curled even tighter into himself.

"Huh…she's your sister. She will always come back to you."

"What if she doesn't? What if she leaves?"

Stan didn't know what to say to that. Unknown to the young boy and the rest of the Pines family, they didn't know that his twin brother was in some alternate dimension. They didn't see the look of desperation as Ford threw his journal. They didn't see Stan pulling that lever over and over again, always anticipating the end result. The event had shaken him to his core, changed him into a man with one purpose in life: rescue his brother.

Endless nights had been spent looking over scholarly books and articles, always trying to discern if he needed to know this or that. He had never had the knack to memorize physics equations or the drive to actually apply it to everyday situations, but that changed. He had changed. Stan still didn't know if he had changed for the better or for the worse.

Maybe he might never know.

Instead of telling the young boy of what he thought, of the experiences he had to live through, he put his arm around the youngster. At first, the boy had stiffened in his warm embrace, but he minutely relaxed. They stayed that way, great-uncle and great-nephew side by side until the mall's doors began to close. At that moment, they finally spotted Mabel trotting to the fountain. Immediately, the brunet shrugged from his grasp and trudged towards his sister.

Stan left as well.

Those two were closer than the boy thought. They would work it out.

Stan hoped so.

For both their sakes.

* * *

The call came late at night.

Stan had just finished that night's round of stealing some radioactive substance that he had still had trouble pronouncing. The portal in the basement demanded another influx of the element, but there was still a long time to go. However, according to his calculations, if he continued with his steady rate of catering to the portal, he might just finish in the middle of the summer. Giddy with excitement and relief that he might just be getting somewhere in life for once, Stan had immediately set out to procure more of the toxic substance.

Just when he was about to cart away the last of the barrels of the toxic waste into the basement, his phone rang. Stan grumbled to himself and had half a mind to ignore the call. However, call it destiny or whatever the hippies were calling it nowadays, he trudged towards the landline and muttered a semi-courteous salutation.

"Uncle Stan! How are you?" The cheeriness and the static that accompanied the caller did nothing to help Stan's mood. If he didn't get down to the basement soon, someone might come inside and incriminate him before he could say, "I'm a failure at life!" Stan definitely did not need that on his plate.

"If you're just going to pass the time with small talk, then you should know that I'm charging you for every second you waste my time."

"Come on, you don't mean that."

"Son, I con people for a living and make fun of small children for kicks. Who do you take me for?"

On the other side of the line, he heard his niece-in-law chide her husband.

("Maybe we should talk to Shermy. Your Uncle Stan probably doesn't want company."

"No way," came another hastily whispered response. "Dipper and Mabel need to reconnect to nature! When was the last time those two saw the sun without coaxing? We need Stan."

"Fine.")

What did they want this time?

"So far you've racked fifty-eight cents," Stan remarked drily. "Unless you want to willingly donate, then I suggest you get this over with."

"Okay, we want you to take care of Mabel and Dipper for the summer."

What?

Who?

Him?

"You know what? You don't have to pay a cent if you tell me that was a prank."

Dozens of scenarios popped in his brain as he tried to process what a wrench in his plans those two would be. Even though he didn't know them very well—courtesy to his habit of avoiding most of his family—he knew that those two were too bright for their own good. The people of Gravity Falls were easy to con, but those two would blow his plans right out of the water.

He couldn't willingly let those two into the dangerous circumstances that Ford had created.

He had enough problems to deal with.

"Uncle Stan, please. It's just for the summer and they're really well-behaved. You've taken care of them in the past, haven't you?"

"Your point?" Stan sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "They're good kids. I know. It's just that it's pretty quiet up here, nothing much to do. Plus, I'm always busy and I'm not used to having kids." Unsurprising, his sarcasm had hardened to the point of seriousness. Only lunatics would send their kids to stay with him.

"…I think it would be good for all of you."

Good for who? Stan wanted to ask.

"Have you spoken to the kids already?"

"We're planning to."

Stan sighed.

"I'll call you in the morning. Just give me some time to think."

He hung up.

After a moment, he readjusted his contamination suit and headed for the yellow barrels filled with the waste. Thousands of doubts had filled his mind as he wheeled the hazardous material down the basement. Just how long would he keep up the pretense that he was an ordinary con man? How long would he dupe the twins into thinking that the main highlight of his life was to scam tourists? Gravity Falls swam with idiots; there were few who had the sense to question Stan about his past and why he had such high prices. There were even fewer who would check his background.

Another thought came to mind.

What would happen if—when, not if—he managed to get his brother safe, what would he say to the kids? He imagined that it would quickly blow over.

("Hey kids! Meet your Great Uncle Fordsy! Bit of a pain in the you-know-what, but he has his uses.")

And another thought.

What if—What if he couldn't get his brother back? What if the twins discovered what he was doing was illegal and decided to report him? What if they took away his chance to get Ford back? The chances were slim, but they were there. The probability would be rendered to zero if he refused, but…

Stan bent down to one of his drawers (locked) and picked up a faded photograph of two young boys in front of a makeshift boat. The grins on their faces were bright and beaming. They were two adventurers anticipating storms, monsters, and treasures at every turn in their imagined journeys. They were filled with hope of the future.

Nothing could have stopped them.

Nothing could have separated them.

But everything did.

And then a treasonous thought came to mind.

Wouldn't you like to see a pair of twins who were close and innocent? Wouldn't you like to see them in their prime and smiling at the world because they knew that they would face obstacles together? Wouldn't it be a comfort to know that they wouldn't end up as failures like him and Ford?

Stan thought and fingered the photo with a hint of regret.

"Dipper and Mabel…" He muttered to himself. "What do you think, Ford?" He addressed the portal.

Nothing.

There was always nothing.

"Killjoy." Stan chuckled before he gently placed the faded picture into the drawer and left the basement. "I guess I'll call 'em in the morning. It gets boring talking to myself."

* * *

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